No Regrets
by Tarafina
Summary: Sequel to Hero: Five years later, Chloe and Dean meet again. Two Versions! Chlollie, Chlean
1. VERSION ONE: Chlollie, sad:Chlean

**Title**: No Regrets  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: T  
**Pairing**: Chloe/Dean; Chloe/Oliver  
**Summary**: (Sequel to Hero) Five years later, Chloe and Dean meet again. Two Versions!

**_No Regrets_**

1/1

Five years after leaving a charming former reporter in a bar, for her own safety, Dean Winchester never expected to see her again. Their paths were unlikely to cross; sure they fought for the same things but they ran in different circles. He and Sammy were working yet another case; a real bad sonuvabitch that had a liking for human flesh. With a shot-gun filled with rock salt in one hand and a flashlight in the other, he was making his way through halls stealthily; eyes open for any signs, human or demon alike. His heavy boots seemed loud in the silence, but it'd never hindered him before.

As he came around a corner, he ran right into a small, curvy little thing, dressed in red and black leather and wearing it damn well. His gun lifted automatically, but with a quick kick of her leg, it was forced away from her and the shot exploded against the wall. He lifted his flashlight, blinding her for a millisecond and getting the upper hand. But as he reached for her, she said something that made him stop. "Dean?"

His brow furrowed; there'd been a lot of women in his lifetime, but she wasn't someone he figured he could forget. The black hair confused him. "Chloe?"

She lifted her sunglasses back, and stared at him with a frown. "This is one of _your _missions?" she asked, brows furrowed.

He nodded, letting his guard down. "Uh yeah. Demon or something." He shrugged, feeling a weird fluttering in his stomach.

Her hand fell to her hip, posture showing no discomfort. "Huh. Didn't know. There's a 33.1 lab in this town; missing people, you know... Usually connects like that."

"No, no, I get it." Dean stood before her awkwardly, not sure what to say or how to react. It wasn't often he ran into one of the few great loves of his life. And this one left more of an impact than he liked to admit. He could already hear his brother getting sappy. "So you're uh, in the field?"

"Yeah." She smiled; that brilliant Sullivan grin of hers that always made his chest do back flips. And damn if his reaction wasn't still the same. "Got my own leather suit and everything."

"Noticed," he replied with a smirk as he scanned her from head to toe. It certainly wasn't easy to overlook. He'd always known she had the body, but the leather just enhanced it that little bit more. She pulled off the killer suit with a certain kick ass hero thrown in.

She smiled slightly, lifting a brow. "Got out of that one year thing, huh?" It was casual enough to make him think she never doubted he would.

"Yeah, yeah... Eventually." He lifted a shoulder, nonchalant. "You know me though..." A half smile crossed his mouth. "Unkillable."

She nodded, chuckling under her breath. As her eyes met his he was reminded of a time when she could look at him and he felt right in the world. All that depressing bullshit that just never went away wasn't so stifling. Ah hell, he was getting sentimental.

"Yeah, you had your charms," she admitted.

Dean stared at her a moment, with his heart speeding up and his palms beginning to sweat he realized that the situation was fast turning against him. He opened his mouth to say something; anything. Hopefully witty and charming, sweep her off her feet or something.

"Come in Watchtower," a deep voice could be heard from the ear piece he noticed hidden slightly beneath the black hair. He really hoped that was a wig.

"This is Watchtower," she replied, back to professional.

"What's your status?"

Her mouth quirked in a smirk. "Currently standing with one of the good guys." She shook her head. "This isn't one of _our _missions guy. Bit of a supernatural twist." Looking over to him, she lifted a brow.

"Repeat?"

She sighed, "Meet up in ten by the bikes."

"Affirmative."

She turned back to Dean, back to her casual self. "Are you currently in the middle of this or just doing a little recon?"

"Why? Want Sammy and me to meet your band of Leaguers?" he wondered with a tone of teasing. Was it his fault that his mind automatically brought up tights and bad one-liners?

She shrugged. "If you've got the time."

He nodded. "We can do that."

He found Sam on the other side of the building and watched with rolling eyes as his little brother hugged their former partner in hunting. They were back to their usual geek selves, comparing stories and investigative skills. "Hah! I knew the one in Virginia was a werewolf! Did I tell you, or what?" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam replied with a shake of his head. "Well you got the one in San Fran _completely _wrong!"

She snorted, throwing her arms up as they made their way out of the building, no longer afraid of what might be inside. They could handle it if it attacked. "Hey, I had very few facts and most of them were distorted. Had I been there, I would've figured it out two days flat," she boasted.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her. "So what are you and the League doing down here? Don't tell me you thought this one was a Luthor special too?"

"Hey, there's a lab around here somewhere, we just don't have an exact location. And this one had all the right cues, thanks!" She nudged his shoulder, stepping away. She turned to see her group of superheroes over by two bikes and a van and separated from them to run over.

Dean glanced at Sam who looked over with a shrug. As they walked closer, they could see the suspicious looks of the men she was standing with. "Right, so, Dean, Sam, this is Impulse, Cyborg, Aquaman and Green Arrow," she introduced, smiling proudly at the men behind her. "And guys, this is Dean and Sam, they're the demon hunters I told you about."

"Wicked! I heard you guys killed that speed demon over in Cali!" Bart exclaimed, grinning. "Thank you! Dude was seriously arrogant! I beat him five times in a race and he _still _thinks he can kick my ass! Yeah right!"

"Hear that Sammy, we've done the world a service," Dean said, half-smiling.

Chloe reached up and pulled back her wig to reveal her naturally blonde hair, shaking her head as Fish Boy offered to put it away for her and then moving to the van to pull off her belt and gloves, putting her gear away in a trunk. She made her way back over to them and smiled, looking much more like the Chloe he'd known, leather aside.

"So what've you two got here?" she wondered.

"We're thinking-" His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened slightly. It was as she lifted her hand to brush her bangs away that he noticed the gold band on her finger and his chest clenched tightly. "You're married," he said abruptly.

"Wow, is that an awkward moment? I think I'll step over here," the short dude muttered, turning and walking over to the van with Microchip and Fish Boy.

Chloe smiled stiffly up at him for a moment, clearing her throat. "Yes." She nodded, licking her lips uncomfortably. "Almost two years now."

His brows lifted while his mouth tightened with a frown. "Wow, that didn't take long."

"Dean," his brother said warningly. He ignored him.

She thinned her eyes, her head tipping in defense. "I'm sorry, was I supposed to mourn you the rest of my life?"

He sighed, turning his eyes away.

She shook her head, expression softening. "I loved you once. I was willing to stay and live that life with you and you told me to go, so I did." She paused, biting her lip. "I went back, I faced the problem and I solved it. And now I fight crime instead of demons and it's fulfilling. So maybe I should thank you, I don't know. I know that what we had never really had a chance to start and you asked me to leave before it could." She shook her head. "I couldn't wait for the day when the world would be demon free or you would accept the idea that maybe instead of watching my back, we could've watched each others. So I found somebody who could accept me as I am and not try and hide me from the darkness. And I fell in love enough to know that a lifetime with this man - a man that I know will love me unconditionally and never ask me to go to save himself from that fear - was what was right for me." She nodded; still just as stubborn as she always had been. "So I won't apologize for moving on, for falling in love, for marrying him. I won't apologize at all. _You _told me to go. _You _gave me no choice in the matter. And _I _lived the life you thought I should have; white picket fence and all. Except mine is equipped with one helluva security system."

He lifted his eyes to hers, seeing the hurt and the confusion there. "I only wanted you to be happy and safe," he managed to say, despite how his throat closed up.

She smiled up at him, slow and rather sad. "I _am _happy. And I'm the safest woman on this planet." She laughed, motioning to the guys by the van with her thumb. "They've got my back."

"And your husband? He knows about... all this?" he wondered, lifting a brow.

She tipped her head, glancing at the guy in green leather behind her. "I think he has a little insight to the life, yeah."

The Green Arrow smirked down at her. He lifted a hand out to Dean. "Oliver Queen," he introduced.

Dean shook it; quick and abrupt. "Modern day Robin Hood," he said, nodding. "You always did have a thing for heroes."

She winked. "And meteor freaks."

He chuckled, nodding. He paused a moment before cocking a brow, looking at her honestly. "You ever need anything..."

"I know who to call," she said, smiling up at him. She stepped forward, lifted up to her tip toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Don't regret this," she murmured to him.

He closed his eyes, sighing as he squeezed his arms around her waist. He couldn't promise her he wouldn't.

"You made the right choice," she assured.

"Did I?" He thought about that night a million times and all he could think was that he never should've left her. He never should've told her to go. He could've handled it; the extra work and fear involved with having her there. It would've been hard, but they could've done it.

He felt her hand run down the back of his hair soothingly. "Of course." She fell back to her feet, stepping away just enough for him to remember that they weren't who they were then. There was no chance for him to make it right and get her back. She reached up, her palm cupping his cheek. "You were looking out for me. It's what you do; you take care of the world." She shook her head, smiling. "You were right. I didn't belong there. I belong here." She looked over her shoulder at Oliver, her eyes softening. "I belong with him."

That one hurt like hell. "Yeah, well, you ever get sick of him, you know how to find me." He winked at her.

"You forget I know the Dean behind all that bravado," she reminded with a frown.

"I never forget. I choose to ignore," he replied, shaking his head. "Easier that way."

"You should listen to that geek brother of yours. He's right when he tells you not to bottle it up."

He shrugged, frowning. "Ah, what does he know?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "It was good seeing you."

"Yeah, you're not too hard on the eyes either."

"Take care of yourself," she murmured stepping back toward her hero husband.

"Too busy taking care of everybody else." He stared at her honestly. "You know that."

"Yeah." She sighed. "I know." She turned toward Sam and smiled sadly before she leaned up and hugged him once more. "I know there's no point in saying this, but... Watch his back, huh?"

"Always," Sam promised, hugging her tight.

As she let go, she reached for Oliver's hand, who took hers knowingly. He hated having to admit it, but they did look right together. He glanced up at the man who managed to catch her in the end and nodded. "Take care of her."

"I will," he assured.

Dean watched as they made their way over to their bikes. The rest of the League waved their goodbye before the short dude sped off in a red blur and Microchip jumped in the van with Fish Boy. He couldn't hear them, but he could tell through their body language as Chloe and Green Leather stood together that their relationship was deeper than he wanted to believe. She leaned into him when she walked, instead of standing on her own two feet, without showing any need for anybody else. She smiled up at him, free and honest. And her eyes glittered just like they used to when she'd just solved the big mystery.

Dean might've only had a little time with her, but he knew her. Knew those little Sullivan quirks of hers and he could see the way her eyes softened, fell to half-mass as her husband smiled. He could read the sway of her hips and the lift of her hands, pushing her blonde hair behind her ears. The tip of her head and the flush of her cheeks. He'd seen it all before. Seen how her hips seemed to jut out just a bit, as if reaching for his own. But now they were directed at Green Leather's, her billionaire husband that apparently had no qualms with saving her ass from death. A partnership; something he wasn't sure he could really offer her. But she got it now, she had her husband and her death-defying job, all rolled up into one.

And Dean wanted to hate him, wanted to find him unworthy, but he couldn't. Because she was content; she was alive and safe and from one hero to another, Dean could tell that Oliver Queen, with or without the leather persona, would keep Chloe from any danger. Risk his own life, fight to the death, against all odds - that was what was expected of a man who loved her. Dean had it and Oliver must, because there was no way anybody could've lasted this long without getting into some seriously effed up shit. Some part of him wished he could've stuck it out with her, maybe been that guy that she was grinning up at now, hands on his front, head tipped back, eyes lit with fire and love. But he wasn't. He'd given that up. And maybe the better guy got her, he didn't know. But in the end, all there were was regrets and acceptance and he didn't know which one he had.

She smiled at him over her shoulder, climbing onto her metallic crotch rocket, the leather of her suit tight on her curves. She winked at him in farewell and he heard the rev of the engine, nodded his head in goodbye and hoped she didn't know how hard it was to see her go. He felt Sam's hand at his shoulder, trying to be reassuring and crap, but instead of accepting it, he turned away, walked back toward where they parked the Impala and pretended that his chest wasn't hurting like hell and his eyes weren't stinging something fierce.

The drive back to the motel was quiet, with Sam sitting uncomfortably in the passenger seat, knee jumping anxiously, and his need to say something comforting filling the air. Dean didn't look at him or open the line of questioning, instead he listened to his car purr and growl and he hit the accelerator with his heavy boot, trying to race away from all the what if's all wrapped up in her and her separate future.

An hour later he was sitting in another hotel in the same city, wishing things were different.

"Could'a been me, Sammy," he finally said, tipping his beer to his mouth once more, staring mournfully at the floor. He shook his head. "I messed it up, didn't I?"

"You were looking out for her." Sam sighed. "You just wanted her to be happy."

"She is... Right?" He glanced at him, rather self conscious about the whole 'share your feelings' shit. "She looked happy."

"She's happy," he agreed, lifting a shoulder.

"And alive." Dean laughed sadly. "Thought I was saving her from this life, but apparently she didn't want out of it. She just found it with another guy." He turned to his brother with a smirk. "Hell, and I thought I was one-of-a-kind."

"You are." Sam nodded. "Just because he does something similar doesn't make him _you_." He grinned. "You wouldn't _marry _her."

Dean laughed deeply, shaking his head. "Yeah... I guess." Maybe in another life... He frowned. "I'm alone though... I guess I kinda thought she would be too."

His brother turned to him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. "You got me."

Dean lifted a brow, glancing at him. "That's it? No happily ever after or uplifting promise?"

He lifted a shoulder, his brow wrinkling. "You want a _hug_?"

He shook his head before standing up and walking to his bed. "Shut up," he sighed.

Maybe she was right. He shouldn't regret it. Maybe he wasn't meant for that life, but she was and it looked good on her. He'd never seen her glow like that; with pride and happiness and... love. Whatever Green Leather was doing, it was what she needed. And if she was his biggest regret in life, then he guessed it was just how it was supposed to be. As long as she was happy, that was all that mattered. It was what he'd been trying to do in the first place. While she might be alive and well in the life she was living now, the one he lived was too jaded for her. She was saveable, he supposed. Able to live that life still and he... He was broken. Always was and always would be. He'd just have to accept that.

He crossed his arms beneath his head and laid back on the bed, stretching out.

"You gonna be okay?" Sam wondered.

He sighed. "Yeah... Always am, aren't I?"

The light turned off and he heard Sam climb into the bed across from him. "Yeah... I guess."

So "okay" might not be the _best _word. But he'd survive. It was what he'd been raised to do and hell if he didn't do it well. And if worse came to worst, maybe she had a sister.

* * *

**Author's Note**: _This is Version 1, where even after a time, Chloe and Dean just don't work out. Version 2, however, might just have a different ending. Lemme know if you're interested in part 2. Reviews are sustenance, readers! Luv yas - Fina!_


	2. VERSION TWO: Chlean

**Title**: No Regrets (Version Two)  
**Genre**: Romance/Drama/Angst  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Pairing**: Chloe/Dean  
**Summary**: (Sequel to Hero) Five years later, Chloe and Dean meet again. (Two Versions!)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: _THIS IS **NOT** A CONTINUATION OF THE LAST CHAPTER! IT IS AN ALTERNATE SEQUEL TO **HERO**.  
ANOTHER POSSIBILITY TO THE REUNION OF CHLOE/DEAN, FIVE YEARS LATER!  
YOU'VE BEEN WARNED - PLEASE NO CONFUSED REVIEWS!_

**_No Regrets_**

1/1

There was something drop dead sexy about a woman playing Nazareth so loud, eardrums were liable to pop. She drove by so fast he barely caught sight of the blonde hair whipping in the wind. It was the green eyes that glanced at him only momentarily but challenging that had him jumping in his Impala so quick, he nearly forgot his brother. Sam scrambled to get in the car, the door not even closed as Dean raced onto the highway, gunning the engine, grinning at the purr. And in answer to the fading music far ahead of him, he popped an old tape in and turned the knob to the loudest setting, ignoring as his brother sat peeved next to him, looking like he was being prodded in his ears with large needles. Screw him; the baby didn't know what _real _music was.

As fast as her car was -he'd admit that some of the newer models had some speed on them- it was no match for his girl. He barely heard Sammy complaining that they were going to crash if he didn't slow down. There was nothing but desert straight ahead and all around, there wasn't anything to force them into crashing. No cars anywhere to be seen except for hers, blasting Hair of the Dog as she sped ahead, gunning her engine and weaving along the road, as if challenging him to come and get her. Her tires hugged the road, and she kept to the inside, away from the sandy trenches lining the highway. Perfect S shapes along in front of him, no fear in her movements; a game. She was the prey and he was the hunter; so far. From her point of view, he could be the prey and she was letting him think he was the hunter.

He grinned.

How long had it been? He shook his head. Five years. That was four years, three hundred and sixty four days too many. It only took him 24 hours to realize what he was doing was only going to hurt the both of them more. He wasn't one for backing out of a decision though and he left her to live her life, hoping it was better than the one she would've had with him. They could call him many things, a prick was among the list, but he was selfless when it was needed. She was one of those mistakes though; the kind he wished he could go back and change. The one he never forgot making.

He swerved up around near the backend of her car and she turned to the right, giving him some room until he pulled up next to her, so close he nearly took her rearview mirror of her door with his own. Their music mingled in the air now, loud and deep, a connection. He shook his head; the woman sure knew the way to his heart.

_Heartbreaker, soul shaker  
__I've been told about you...  
__Steamroller, midnight stroller  
What they've been saying must be true..._

He turned his head, ignoring the road, just trying to catch a glimpse of her, more than he'd seen in that brief flash of her face as she sped on by, catching his attention thoroughly. Most he'd seen of her in years was pictures here or there for the Daily Planet, until she up and left her beloved paper for good. And then she was hidden away; couldn't find a trace of her. She was good at that though, hiding the trails people didn't even know they were leaving. More than once, she'd done them a favor and erased files that really shouldn't be out there if they wanted to keep going. Didn't even have to ask; she kept a close eye on them and when they popped up in places that were likely to get them killed or thrown in the state pen, she erased every last piece of info they had on the Winchesters. She was a regular lifesaver.

He heard the rev of her engine, matched it with his own, lips curling as he stared across at the woman who was no longer staring at the road herself. She stared right back, those vivid green eyes of hers speaking volumes. For a minute, he forgot he was driving. Forgot where he was or who he was and everything in between. It was just him and her and the gripping voice of Dan McCafferty filling the air around them. She was even more beautiful than he remembered; those eyes of hers a little darker, a little more jaded, but still just as brilliant a shade of green as he'd ever seen. Those eyes... he'd had dreams of them. Body gripping, heart clenching, sweat inducing, passionate dreams where he'd woken up hard as hell and the only thing he could remember was the green, the sadness, the intensity in those eyes. Nobody had 'em like her.

And they were staring back at him right now, just as strong as he remembered, unwilling to blink or show any sign of backing down. Instead she hit the accelerator a little more and he met her mile for mile.

"Dean! What the..." he heard his brother shouting. Sammy paused, looking over at the other driver, eyes widening in shock. "Is that...?"

_Red hot mama,  
__Velvet charmer,  
__Times come to pay your dues..._

Her eyes broke from his, glancing at Sam. Just as quickly her gaze turned from intense to gleaming with a mischief he knew all too well and her lips curled in a grin. She winked and then she hit the gas pedal and her car was gone, so fast it was just a blur. Hell, that League of hers must'a put _something _into that because no _way _could it outrace his Impala. He chased after her, but he knew that he wasn't meant to catch her. Not right then anyway. He watched as her car flew down the highway, her music fading and her smile the only thing left in his mind. He swore under his breath, slapping his steering wheel in frustration, the only answer back to her was his music pounding loud and high.

_Now you're messin' with a  
A son of a bitch...  
Now you're messin' with a son of a bitch  
Now you're messin' with a  
A son of a bitch...  
Now you're messin' with a son of a bitch!_

He didn't see her again for a few days, pulling into a bar just down the road from a crappy Motel he knew he and his brother were going to take up in for a couple days. They didn't have a hunt on the horizon; weird, but a little bit nice. He'd been going non-stop since he was brought back from one helluva trip to well, hell itself, and he could feel it on him. The marks under his eyes, the tiredness in his limbs, the utter despondency that seemed to drag behind him. He wanted them all dead; wanted them all thrown right back where they came from. And he enjoyed every second spent sending them there, sneering, his eyes dark and filled with hatred as they laughed, as if they'd accomplished something nonetheless. The only thing they accomplished was pissing him off further.

But seeing her, for even the briefest of seconds, woke something up in him. A drive to do more than just kill and hunt and defeat. Once upon a time, she'd been his 'maybe.' Happily ever after was a long-shot, but maybe... Just maybe... There could've been something great with her. The likelihood of a white picket fence was slim to none, and children were likely the product of a "whoops, forgot to use something that time" situation. But maybe he was just a little too jaded to be thinking about any of that. Because while he wasn't exactly screaming to get out of the game, he was wishing he hadn't turned a certain blonde away when she was offering up a small piece of normalcy.

When he walked through those swinging bar doors, he was expecting a night of drunken misery and maybe a few laughs with his brother, but then he saw her. Hip leaning against a pool table, lips curled in a smirk as if she'd known all along that he was going to show up. Pool cue in hand, her eyes fell from his to see how her competitor was doing, only to watch as his ball bounced off the wall and slid away from the pocket. She lifted a 'what can do you?' shoulder at him and then leaned across the table, adjusting the wooden pole in her arms, fingers stretching along the cue just as he'd shown her. His jaw twitched, eyes thinning as he watched her back curve, bangs falling over her eyes. He remembered teaching her, in a bar a lot like this but far emptier. Sam had long gone back to the motel and the only patrons hanging around were far past drunk. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of touching that was supposed to be innocent but never really was. The way she used to lean into him, her head falling back to his shoulder, he missed that.

He watched her glide the end of the cue over her fingers and easily knock the ball right into the pocket she wanted. As she stood back up, her body seemed to sway more than needed, curves gliding side to side, distracting her opponent as she chalked her cue, readying for the next strike. He walked closer slowly, barely recognizing his brother calling out to him, just watching her. Ball after ball, the table was emptying quickly. He'd taught her well. She may look sweet and innocent with that soft blonde hair and warm smile, but she was a real killer on the table. She swept up the wad of cash the no-longer cocky guy left for her, growling under his breath before he stalked off. She didn't bother counting it, instead stuffing it in her pocket and waving to the bartender, holding up two fingers. The guy nodded to her, pulling out a couple mugs and she set up the balls a second time, briefly stopping past the jukebox, hitting a couple numbers and then doubling back to the table, all the while acting as though he was just another guy in the bar.

Soon as the song started, he felt a laugh bubble in his throat and die on a sigh. He walked over, licking his lips, gathering up what little thought process he had left. He was tired and worn out and he'd spent three days wondering if the last time he'd ever seen her was going to be on that desert highway. But here she was and Nazareth was crooning in the background as she stood at the pool table, cue in hand, chin lifted, defiant green eyes staring at him, waiting.

_Love hurts, love scars,  
Love wounds, and marks,  
Any heart, not tough,  
Or strong, enough  
To take a lot of pain,  
Take a lot of pain  
Love is like a cloud  
Holds a lot of rain  
Love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts_

He stared at her over the table a moment, wondering what to say to a woman he sent away five years ago, telling her she was better off without him. He only looked away from her when the bartender set down two beers on the side of the table and he picked his own up, twisting the cap off and taking a long guzzle, eyes falling back to stare at her. She passed him her cue, a challenge there in her eyes, as if bating him to go ahead and give in, give it all a try. Some voice in the back of his head said to shake his head, let her know that she should go back to where she came from, that five years didn't change the fact that in the end, he'd get her killed or vice versa. But his hand twitched, his gut twisted and before he knew it, he was setting up the shot to break the perfect triangle sitting at the other end, framed by her small body.

He smirked as two balls landed in the corner pockets and walked around the table, examining the set up, trying to find his next shot. He leaned down, eyes thinned with attention, but then he felt her against him, her body fitting along his back, curves softly grazing his flexed back. Her chin fell to his shoulder and he looked up and over to her. "Not fair," he said, voice low and husky.

She smiled at him. "When have you ever played fair?"

His lips twitched before he turned his head back and took the shot. It wobbled some, but slid right into the pocket he designated for it and then he let the cue drop to the green table and stood up, feeling her slide down and take a step back. He stared at her awhile, taking in every plain of her face and felt his hands clench at his sides. He wanted to touch her, feel the soft skin of hers he remembered all too well. "What are you doin' here?" he asked instead, sighing under his breath.

"Besides scamming the locals out of their hard earned money?" she asked, cocking a brow. She tipped her head, not waiting for an answer. "I knew you'd be here."

_I'm young, I know,  
But even so  
I know a thing, or two  
I learned, from you  
I really learned a lot,  
Really learned a lot  
Love is like a flame  
It burns you when its hot  
Love hurts, ooh ooh love hurts_

He should've told her she was looking for the wrong person, but instead he nodded, eyes falling for a minute. "Not really your scene," he mentioned, glancing around the bar. "Hasn't been for a long while anyway."

She nodded agreeably, lifting a shoulder. "Maybe I missed it."

He swallowed tightly. "You shouldn't."

Her lips thinned, chin falling as her eyes darkened slightly and he knew that look. He was treading on thin water. "I think I'm old enough to make my own decisions on where I will and won't go, don't you?"

"You were probably old enough a long time ago... You just had a habit of picking the wrong places." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Judging by bruise on your left cheek, I'd say you're still getting in more trouble than what's good for ya."

She grinned, shaking her head, a laugh escaping her. "You're still just as..." She sighed, biting her lip for a moment and he couldn't help but grin.

"Handsome? Sexy? Dark and dangerous?" he suggested.

She snorted. "Arrogant, cocky, egotistical-"

He rolled his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, yeah."

Licking her lips, she tipped her head to the side. "Five years and... God, you look tired." Her brows furrowed, somewhere between worry and sadness.

He shrugged, eyes turning off for a moment. "Work does that. It's not exactly cushy," he replied, voice dripping with scorn.

She nodded. "I remember."

He looked back at her, expression blank. Those green eyes were still haunted, but he guessed it didn't have anything to do with what he remembered being her reason for running. In five years, she was bound to have built up a whole lot more problems. She was just that way; always seemed to be something chasing after her.

She ran a hand through her hair; a nervous habit of hers, he remembered. "You still interested in getting your ass handed to you in pool, Winchester?" she asked him, lifting a brow. "Or do you wanna get outta here? Catch up in some crappy Motel that probably smells and has stains we really don't want to think about too much."

He laughed lowly, nodding. "While you don't make it sound too charming, we should get outta here."

Honestly, the first thing that came to mind was getting the hell out of anywhere public and doing what he'd wanted to do all those years ago. For months he'd had her within arms reach and it'd been hard not to let any of his feelings show. Here was this woman who was as drawn to the danger and supernatural as much as him. A woman who wanted to fight it with all of herself, to make the world better and keep the unsuspecting from harm. It didn't help that she was charming and gorgeous and still down-to-earth, despite all that she'd seen and done. But having what he wanted with her was out of the question, so he kept it in his pants and pretended that anything near a flutter going on in his heart had something to do with bad bar food and not the fact that when she smiled it did weird things to him.

'Cause when it came down to it, his feelings for her didn't change any over the last five years and that was just trouble waiting to happen.

_Some fools think of happiness  
Blissfulness, togetherness  
Some fools fool themselves I guess  
They're not foolin' me_

He cleared his throat, dropping the cue to the table and grabbing up his beer by the neck of the bottle. He passed her hers and walked over to Sam who was currently sitting boredly at the bar. He looked up as he approached and opened his mouth to ask something before closing it suddenly, eyes falling on the blonde at his back. "Chloe?" he asked, voice surprised before he stood up. He had to bend down to hug her and Dean noticed how she still lifted up on her tip toes, her body curving up, arms wrapping around Sam tightly, embracing him with all of herself.

"It's good to see you," Sam said, shaking his head slowly, eyes thinning. "Wow. It's, uh... It's been like five years, right?"

She nodded, glancing at Dean briefly. "Somewhere in there."

"So what are you doing here then?" His geek-brother stuffed his hands in his pockets, learning forward eagerly, wanting to catch up.

"Just passing through," she replied, lifting a shoulder.

Dean lifted a brow at her. Didn't she just say she'd known he'd be there?

The look she gave him told him to shut up and while he wasn't accustomed to listening to those looks, even when Sam was giving him them, he didn't correct her or call her out, instead lifting his beer to his mouth once more.

She pulled her keys out of her pocket. "Staying or coming?" she asked Sam. "We're heading over to the Motel to talk."

Sam looked over at him and as covertly as he could, Dean tried to tell him to stay behind. He needed to talk to their old partner in supernatural crime fighting. "Uh, you know, I think I'll stay behind a little. Maybe we could get breakfast tomorrow though and talk some more," he suggested, nodding.

She smiled up at him knowingly. "Sure," she told him, tossing her keys to him. "I'm in room 403 at the same hotel, so just park her near my room."

He nodded, stuffing them in his pocket before retaking his seat on the stool.

She started walking toward the doors to leave and Dean glanced back at Sam, catching his warning expression. He scowled at him, rolling his eyes and lifting his shoulders before he followed her out of the bar. Nazareth faded away and the quiet of the night seemed stifling as they climbed into his Impala. He couldn't help remembering how she and Sam fought over shotgun when they'd been on the road. She'd scream it just milliseconds before he would and climb in, boastfully grinning back at Sam who sat uncomfortably in the back, his abnormally long legs cramped up behind the seats. Now it was just them though and she leaned back in the seat, sighing contently, eyes falling shut, teeth biting into her lower lip. She looked like she'd just been thoroughly satisfied; melting into the seat as if it'd welcomed her back with open arms and she'd embraced it just as warmly.

He forced his eyes ahead, gunned the engine and pulled away from the bar quickly; directing them toward the faded neon yellow sign screaming "Vacancy," up ahead. He pulled in, left her idling by the front office, got himself a key to a double and returned to the car where she was still sitting completely at ease, almost as if she'd never left. Like it hadn't been five years since she occupied the space next t to him. He couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like if she had stayed; if she'd put all of that stubborn disposition to use and hadn't let him push her away. He stared at her a few seconds longer than needed; the peaceful expression on her face something that captivated him. And then he turned away, telling himself he was getting in deep where he really shouldn't.

He pulled the Impala up near his room, a good ten or so down from where hers was. Cutting the engine, he climbed out, surprised to feel tension in his shoulders. Wasn't often he got uncomfortable. All he'd seen and done, there were few things that really caught him by surprise. Seeing her after five years was one of those things though. Somewhere along that long absence, he started to think he'd never see her again. Not in person, anyway. He wasn't about to admit that he checked up on her from time to time; just to make sure she wasn't showing up in the obituaries, this time on a permanent basis. He followed her career up until she stopped working for the DP and then he lost track of her for awhile, 'til she started writing a few pieces here or there for some Star City Gazette. Didn't take him long to figure out it was the billionaire's home city. He didn't know much about Oliver Queen, but he did know that he had a fetish for green leather and ran the Justice League of America. Dean knew then that she'd taken his advice and got in contact with the team of do-gooders like he thought she should. They were a different brand of hero; better equipped to keep her danger-prone self out of harms way.

So he was more than a little surprised to see her so far away from where he'd pegged her to be. She'd been laying low for the majority of their separation and he figured she'd live a low-key life; with the white picket fence like she deserved. He chose not to ponder how much the idea still burned him. He wanted it for her, sure. But some part of him fell for her five years ago and never really recovered. She had spunk and gusto and a whole lot of charm; captured him with her first smile. All in a smoky bar in another city on another hunt; just another day in the life of him. But it all changed when she looked up at him, hesitant and a little amused. Here he was, thinking maybe his little brother found a beautiful girl that might be able to handle his geekness, just to find out she wasn't at all what he expected.

He didn't know how it was she managed to get herself a prime seat in the Impala, becoming part of their very exclusive team, but he knew he loved having her there along for the ride. She was a top notch researcher and she had the instincts to help with the hunts. But it didn't take long for him to realize that having her there meant one more person to worry about and watch over. And while losing some innocent bystander who didn't know shit for nothing was hard, he couldn't imagine losing her. Not then and not now. He had a hard enough time trying to reconcile each hunt with Sammy; knowing his brother was always gonna be a prime target. But her... She was a dream he pretended he didn't have; a redemption he faked indifference for. And he wanted her, bad. But like any other good thing in his life, he had to sacrifice her. For her own good and his.

Didn't mean he ever forgot her.

She climbed out of the Impala, closed it gentle enough to make him remember that to her his car was more than just a vehicle. She saw the beauty in it, heard the purr of the engine and loved the sleek curves of his baby almost as much as him. She never asked to drive, if only because she knew how much it meant to him. But he saw her eyeing the steering wheel, biting her lip as she watched his hands grip it, turn it, slide his palms along the curve. And he wasn't going to lie, watching her wash his car was something he probably enjoyed more than any man should.

She followed him into the room without a peep, which was odd for her since she always seemed to have _something _on her mind. The door closed with a click and he felt it reverberate through him. He remembered nights so many years ago when he didn't want Sam to leave the room, just because he knew that being there, alone with her, it put things in his head. Put possibilities and hopes that he knew he shouldn't even consider. But he did and it hurt later when he knew they weren't ever gonna happen.

And now here they were again, in another hotel in another city. He stared at the far wall a moment, knowing she was only ten feet or so behind him, probably leaning back against the door, contemplating. She was always thinking. If it were anybody else, he wouldn't like it. He didn't like having his back turned; made him uncomfortable, went against all of his instincts. But he _knew _her, knew she wouldn't ever do anything to him except get his ass outta trouble. So he didn't even flinch as he heard her footsteps, didn't even tense up.

He felt her hands at his shoulders and slowly, almost intimately, she shed his leather jacket, tossing it to the bed across from them. His eyes fell to half mass and the clench in his stomach had nothing to do with suspicion or anxiety. She was close now; close enough that he could grab her, haul her up against his chest. But he didn't, because despite all the want thrumming inside of him, there was still some voice of reason, telling him that it was wrong, that he shouldn't do this, shouldn't let himself fall for her anymore than he already had. It was a moot point.

"Been five years," he commented, as if she didn't know. "Why now?"

She rounded him, stood in front of him with her hip tipped to the side. "Learned what I had to, figured I'd come back when the timing was right."

His brow furrowed. What was it she _learned_?

He didn't have to ask. "I went back like you wanted me to." She lifted a shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest. "League welcomed me with open arms." She smiled slightly. "They had their Watchtower back." She turned her eyes away and he realized as beautiful as she'd always been, she still had that 'seen too much' look to her. In the stiff set of her shoulders and the strain around her face. She could smile the brightest smile, but there was always something behind it, a tired wariness that never really faded. He knew that look; saw it every morning in the mirror and every time he looked at his brother. Hell, he saw it every day growing up, in every expression his dad ever made.

"I was okay with it for awhile. Just being Watchtower... Always behind a desk, away from the real danger." She shook her head, swallowing tightly. "I couldn't do it though."

He frowned. After everything he'd done; all the time spent trying to get her away from this life, she'd gone and done it elsewhere. "They let you on the field?"

"Let," she said with a bitter laugh. "I worked my ass off to get into the field," she told him, turning back to him with a fierce expression. "I trained, hard, and I never let anything hold me back from that. You didn't think I had the ability to be a hunter, they didn't think I had it in me to be a hero. Well I proved you both wrong." She let herself relax slightly. "I asked Oliver to help me. He was the only one who didn't immediately scoff at the idea of me going out and fighting face to face. The others... They believed in me, trusted me even, but they didn't want another liability on their hands. They wanted my computer skills and I understood that but..." She turned away again, walking away from him as if to put space there while she exposed herself. "I'm hands on. I always have been. Since I was thirteen and I moved to the meteor capital of the world." She laughed lightly. "I couldn't just be a voice in their ear, I had to get out there and _do _something."

She turned back to him, her eyes begging him to understand and he did, more than she knew.

"So I went to Oliver and I asked him to train me. In every aspect he could until I was exactly what I needed to be." She nodded, eyes falling. "And he did. He worked me raw until I was so tired, I could barely stand to breathe." She shook her head, smiling sadly. "I may not have their powers, but I was equipped to handle whatever came my way." She licked her lips. "And it was _nice, _you know? To be able to show them, _all _of them, that I could be more than they expected. That I could fight alongside them and they wouldn't have to watch my back constantly, because they knew... They _knew _that I was capable." She sighed. "All of that work paid off. The endless hours and months of weight training and running and working myself to the point of exhaustion. It was... horrible and wonderful at the same time."

She lifted her shoulders, staring at him a moment. "It was nice to know that someone believed in me. That they weren't going to just walk away or turn me away because I was a nuisance or a liability." She shook her head. "He told me it would be hard, that I would hurt and ache and probably hate him for it, but... He was there, every day, waking me up with horrible protein shakes and this smirk that I grew to _hate_ because I knew it meant he was going to push me until I bled and cried and wished I was dead."

She licked her lips, eyes falling. "But the day I woke up and found him sitting at my kitchen table, a box next to his arm, I knew... I knew I was ready and that inside that box was my suit. That I was officially a part of the League. I'd proven myself , I was worthy, I was no longer that damsel in distress." She grinned, widely, triumphantly. "All I could do was hug him." She laughed, almost giddily. "And I cried, not out of sadness but out of joy. God, I hadn't felt so much joy before."

His jaw twitched.

She ran a hand through her hair. "My first mission was incredible and every one after that was just... a _rush_." She exhaled heavily, shaking her head. "But... I didn't fit."

His brows lowered in confusion.

"I mean... They were my friends, my family even, and I believed in everything they did. But... All I kept thinking about were these two guys, traveling the states in a muscle car and fighting the good fight. Namelessly, facelessly. Unlike us, the League, who was public and recognized and known all over. I... I missed the anonymity of it all. The lack of press and celebrity that came with the job. I mean, sure, they didn't know me personally, but sometimes it felt like I was just another figurehead." She frowned. "I didn't want that. I... I wanted to help real people with real problems, _big _problems. Problems that people don't even want to acknowledge exist." She swallowed, turning away once more. "So I told Oliver that I needed to get away... He gave me the keys to a car he'd had suped up just for me, told me to find whatever it was I was looking for... Whatever I was missing..."

He wanted her to turn around, wanted to be able to gauge her reaction, her expressions. All he had to go on was her voice which was abnormally detached, except for a few hitches here or there. She'd always been emotional; not to the point of being annoying, but she cried when she had to. She didn't bother with keeping it all bottled up and hidden, she wasn't afraid to show it when she was hurt. Not like him.

"So I hit the road the same day, with nothing but a duffel bag of necessities and my laptop." She sighed, turning around, face still somewhat hidden from his view. "Wasn't hard to track you two down, not when I knew what to look for." She lifted a shoulder. "Knew you'd stop at that gas station and before I knew it, my music was on high and I was..." She laughed, turning to him then, the mischief back in her eyes. "I wanted to see if you'd chase me... If you'd know that it was... me." She shook her head slightly. "Second I heard your music, I knew..." She swallowed, staring at him, her smile fading. "Five years I spent trying to get over you and I never managed to."

His heart was pounding so hard, he was surprised she couldn't hear it. "Yeah, well... Not so easy to get over, I guess."

She rolled her eyes, lips quirking with a smile. "You'd think your arrogance would be enough to turn me off."

He smirked. "Part of my charm, sweetheart."

She snorted, shaking her head with a thick sigh. "I don't know what I'm doing here." She covered her eyes with her hands. "I never should've stopped... Never should've looked for you to begin with."

He winced. "Come on... I'm not _that_ bad," he said, trying to bring back the lightness.

She let her hands fall and he realized uncomfortably that they were rimmed red and she was blinking rapidly. Her lips quivered but she refused to cry. "Why you? Of all the men in the entire world, why couldn't I fall for someone normal? Someone who wanted me back? That would give anything to have me? That would fight to never... _ever _lose me?" She shook her head, laughing darkly. "I always fall for the men who can never love me back, who can never bother themselves with keeping me."

"I never said I didn't love you," he replied, voice lower than usual, deeper.

"You never said you loved me either," she murmured.

"Hell, Chloe, what did you want me to say? I was trying to save you. I was trying to get you the hell out of this life. Telling you I loved you wasn't going to get you outta there any quicker!" His jaw tightened as he exhaled heavily.

"I didn't _have _to go," she argued, eyes falling.

"_Yes_, you did." He licked his lips uncomfortably. "I'm not gonna say I didn't regret it. I did. A lot. But at least I knew that you were out there, somewhere, a helluva lot safer than we were." He shook his head. "I've lost and almost lost my brother so many times that I can't even..." He shook his head. "I've lived too much of this shitty life to know that having you there was only going to add more pain, more sacrifice, more loss." He shook his head sternly. "I wasn't gonna let you become another one of those people. Another somebody who got killed because they got close to me or my family."

"How do you know I couldn't have survived? How do you know I wasn't the _one _person who could've lived that with you?'

"I just know, okay?" he half-shouted.

"No! No, it's not okay, Dean!" She walked closer to him, her eyes burning now with anger. "I was willing to be there, for you and for Sam and for the world. I was willing to put my life on the line and you just-"

"I just what, Chloe? I just sacrificed the only woman I ever thought 'what if' with because I knew in the end, she was just gonna be another name on another goddamn headstone!" He wanted to shake her, to make her see what was so clear to him. "Don't tell me what I did, I've been thinking about it for five fucking years. All right?" He was breathing heavy, his shoulders heaving. He walked away from her, sat down heavily on the end of the bed, resting his head in his hands as his elbows fit against his knees. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"You could've taught me... You've could've helped me learn what I had to do to be there with you," she told him softly. "Instead of turning me away, you should've brought me into the life."

"I wanted better for you than that. You deserved better than that," he muttered tiredly.

"I didn't _want _better than that, Dean." She sighed, walking forward and then back, another of her habits when she became angry. "You spent so much time deciding what was best for me, you didn't think to ask what I _wanted_."

"I _knew _what you wanted," he told her, lifting his head from his hands. "And what you wanted was gonna get you killed. You think you're the first person who wanted to become a hunter because of somebody else? You think you were the first person to decide they wanted to help fight all that goes bump in the night? You don't even know how many seasoned hunters were killed over the years, leading up to and long past your little stint in hunting, all right." He glared darkly. "I didn't have time for Hunting 101, people were dying!"

"And I could've helped you save them if you hadn't been so pigheaded!"

"Me? Pigheaded?" He laughed.

"Yeah, you!"

He closed his eyes, wiping his face with his hands. "Are we gonna have this fight all night, because it's gonna go in circles." He shook his head. "It was five years ago, it's over. Apparently you're better off. You got your League and your training and your billionaire to keep you company. You don't need me and all my bullshit. Right? Great." He stood up. "Lemme walk you to the door."

She didn't move. "I _had _my League."

He stopped, turning around slowly. "They'll take you back."

She nodded. "Of course they will." She lifted a shoulder. "But I'm not going back."

He sighed. "Chloe... You can't do this."

"I can." She looked up at him, chin raising defiantly. "Way I see it is you either induct me into your tight knit twosome or I go out on my lonesome." Her jaw tightened. "Either way, I'm going hunting."

He scowled deeply. "This isn't fun and games..."

"I remember."

"It's life and death, every day. You get out there, they see you, they're going to remember you. You don't just walk away from the life."

"Kinda like the mob, I get it."

"No. You don't. This is it." He waved his arms around. "Crappy motel room and cheap bars and days that seem to go on forever. Hunts and darkness and all the bad shit just piling up. You drown in it. Can't breath, it's suffocating you so damn much." He shook his head. "I sent you away because I didn't want you to live that."

"You sent me away because you were scared, Dean. Scared that I would die or maybe that I would live." She smiled sadly at his confused frown. "For the longest time I thought I was the only one... That my feelings were so much stronger than yours. That you couldn't _possibly _care about me as much as I cared about you." She shook her head. "But you did love me. Loved me so much you were scared that one day I would die and it would be your fault and that it all could've been avoided if you'd just let me go earlier." She sighed. "So you did the selfless thing and you turned me away, in hopes that I would go live some place where I would be forever safe and content and never know the true meaning of hurt."

He swallowed tightly, turning his eyes away, his jaw flexing.

"And for awhile, I was content with what I had. In knowing that even if I wasn't there, even if I hadn't seen you in however long, you were okay. Because... you're always okay. You're beat up and broken and too jaded for your own good... but you always make it through." She looked down. "And maybe I should've stopped thinking about you a long time ago, stopped wondering and worrying, but I didn't... I never did." She inhaled shakily before returning her gaze to him. "I'm here now and I'm not leaving. Even if you don't feel the same, even if you don't want what I want..."

She shook her head. "I thought I was born for the Daily Planet and I wasn't. So I tried being a superhero and it didn't work out." She smiled shakily. "The only time I felt right, where I felt like I was in the right place, doing the right thing, with the right people... the right _person_, was when I was hunting with you and Sam." She lifted her hands in a pleading, almost surrendering motion. "So you have a choice, you either take me on the road with you or maybe we'll cross paths in the future. Either way, I've got an arsenal in my trunk and the background I need to keep myself alive. I'm a hunter, Dean... With or without you."

He stared at the floor a long minute, his throat clogged up and tight. He raised his eyes slowly, taking in her form slowly. She was slimmer than he remembered, still curvy but now he could see the toned shape of her legs and arms and the flat expanse of her stomach. He could see the hard edges around her face, the hunter's instinct in her eyes, and the strength and will needed was practically oozing from her.

"Ah hell," he swore and before he could pay any mind to that warning voice in his head, he'd crossed the room, arms wrapping around her tightly, gathering her up and pulling her against him. He paused, lips parted, so close to hers he could feel her breathing as it began to pick up. He met her eyes, saw the determination there and he made the choice he'd ignored so many years ago. He kissed her, hard and desperate and filled with a passion he'd missed. He felt her arms slide around his shoulders, fingers running through his hair, nails scraping down the back of his neck.

His hands spread across her back, falling down slowly, following the curve until they found the shape of her butt, wrapped around the back of her thighs and hauled her up higher. Her legs fell around him, locking at the ankle. Her tongue was tangling with his, velvety hot and meeting each stroke of his own as if she knew his every move, anticipated each flick and languid lick. She was warm against his chest, the whole of her soft and hard at the same time. His hands slid away from her thighs, up the curve of her butt to the flair of her hips, squeezing them before his fingers slid beneath the bottom of her shirt, grazing warm flesh. He felt her shiver against him, her thighs tightening against his sides, and a growl built up in his throat.

He stumbled backwards, booted feet less than steady as he searched for the end of the bed, finding it as the back of his legs bumped into it, sending them both sprawling back toward the mattress. Her legs parted just before they hit the bed, legs curling into a kneeling position as she sat atop him, straddling his stomach. She stared down at him, her lips red and puffy, her cheeks flushed as she breathed heavily. Her hands slid up from his stomach, the heat penetrating the thin fabric of his shirt, leaving a trail of awareness along his skin. He felt her fingertips graze his neck before both of her hands were cupping his face, warm palms against the day's shadow of whiskers. How long had it been since he'd had anybody touch him like _this_?

There was the random beautiful women in bars and even a few hunts, but they'd all wanted to ride the hero and he'd only wanted a brief encounter, long enough to push away the pain and anger. But they weren't tender or loving and they really didn't give a damn about him in the end. They got what they wanted and so did he and that satisfied him enough. But this was entirely different. This was _Chloe_; his Chloe. The intrepid reporter that kept him on his toes with her snark and her bravado and courage that never waned. She was curious and tenacious and she didn't take any of his bull, ever. And he loved her for it; loved her more than he wanted to admit.

Her fingers curled, lightly stroking his cheeks and beneath his eyes, as if willing the dark marks there, the tired brutality of life itself, to disappear just from her touch. His hands lifted, wrapped around her forearms before sliding higher, taking in that soft skin he'd missed so much. Up her toned arms, briefly squeezing, raising his brows to tell her she really had buffed up. She laughed lightly, under her breath, a low tone that made his gut clench. He stroked her shoulders, his rough fingertips sliding beneath the fabric of her top, gliding along the strap of her bra. He slid them out and across the rest of her shoulders to her neck, up along the soft column of her throat and the bottom of her chin. She arched into his touch, eyes falling to half mass. His fingers spread out along the lines of her face, taking in each plain before they buried in her hair, soft and golden blonde. They tightened there briefly, almost as if they expected her to disappear beneath his touch at any second. He'd wake up from another of those dreams... Unsatisfied and alone, wishing it was five years earlier and instead of telling her to go, he was telling her the words that long eluded him.

Her hands slid away from his face, back down his chest until they found the rim of his shirt and slid beneath, drawing it up as she explored the hard, muscled torso he'd built over long years of hunting. He smirked as she bit her lip, fingers teasing along the ridges of his abdomen, scratching lightly, palms smoothing up to his ribs. His own hands fell from her hair, sliding down her back, feeling it flex and tense beneath his fingers before he found the bottom of her shirt and raised it up, real slow and teasing until she was leaning back, wiggling against him just enough to make his breath catch. And the she was pulling her arms from the holes of her shirt, bending her head so he could tug it off and all those dreams compared nothing to having her sitting there in nothing but a lacy bra and a pair of faded jeans. And lying right there, at the valley of her breasts, was the necklace he'd given her to keep her safe, nestled tight and comfortable against her heart. He swallowed, hand raising, fingers taking hold of the charm reminiscently.

The backs of his knuckles grazed the soft flesh of her breast and he watched her shiver, teeth chewing her lip with barely restrained desire. He turned his hand over, slid his fingers along the revealed top of her breast and up her chest before wrapping them around her neck, drawing her head down until their mouths slanted together. He could smell her, that scent that never really left him. Signature Chloe Sullivan; a hint of flowery body spray with leftover smoke from the bar they'd been at, but more than all that was just _her_. A sweet scent that overpowered the rest; light and comforting and somehow warm. Her lips were smooth as they pressed against his, her tongue dancing with his own as if they had a song all their own - he'd put his money on something Nazareth style. Her hair grazed his face, falling to curtain them, longer than he remembered.

She moaned against him, soft and needy. He felt her hands sliding down his sides, tugging at his shirt, wanting him just as bare as her. He lifted up from the bed just enough for her to pull it up to his shoulders and then shrugged it up, parting from her mouth only long enough to throw it away. And then he fell back, felt her cool skin against his own, hissed into her mouth at the contact. The lace of her bra scratched his chest as her body pressed against him, warm and soft. His hands roamed up and down her back, sliding over her butt to pull her up closer, hand fitting nicely between her thighs, gripping tightly.

When air was becoming a necessity, she broke away from his mouth, pressing panting, lingering kisses to his face. She trailed down his cheek, along the shell of his ear and down his neck, nipping randomly. He could feel her smile against him as she fell lower, face burying against his shoulder. He skimmed his hand up her back until it found the clasp of her bra and managed to flick it open with knowledgeable fingers. He separated the fabric, fingers wrapping around the strap and dragging it down one shoulder, stroking her skin as he went. He sat up, bringing her with him as he pressed his lips to her shoulder, kissing it as he slid the strap lower, stretching it to get her arm free. She parted from him momentarily, hands lifting to draw her bra away, tossing it to the side before wrapping her arms around his neck once more.

He could feel her pert dusky nipples rubbing against his chest, her soft mounds against him as she slid in closer. Her mouth brushed his temple before kissing a path down the side of his face. He closed his eyes, inhaled her scent and let the moment envelop him. He chose to forget all the reasons this was wrong; all the ways it could turn out bad. He let his fingers touch every bare inch of her he could reach, feeling the contours of her back and the slender dip of her hips, the slope of her neck and the curves of her shoulders.

She rolled her hips, pressing down against his aching hardness. He jerked up against her, smirking as she whimpered against him. She lowered her face, eyes glinting with mischief, and bit his bottom lip playfully before drawing him into a scorching kiss. With his arms slung low on her hips, he leaned her back until their mouths parted and she was arched tautly in front of him. He ducked his head, pressed a kiss against her navel, felt her stomach clench beneath his lips and trailed higher, tasting her warm skin as he went. Her ribs were just as ticklish as they'd always been and she squirmed as he let his teeth graze the sensitive skin. As he rose higher, he paused at her the valley of her breasts, nuzzling the curves with his nose before he kissed along the perfect, pale mounds, taking a pink nipple into his mouth, suckling on it until she was pressing against his mouth, gripping his hair, crying his name. Her nails scored his shoulders as he kissed along to her ignored breast, slow and tender. His lips circled her nipple, kissing everywhere but where she wanted him to, teasing her flesh until he could see the pink flush over her flawless white skin. And then he drew the flat of his tongue over the pebbled center, begging for his attention. His back tightened as he felt her jerk against him, a guttural moan escaping her throat.

He managed to roll them over so she was splayed out beneath him on the bed, her arms falling against the bedspread, her body open and bare and completely surrendered to him. He knelt between her legs, hooked his hands around her thighs and drew her up closer. He managed to kick off his boots without even glancing at them, but took the time to remove hers for her. He hiked up the end of her jeans, hands wrapping around her calf, fingers massaging her as he slid off her ankle high leather boots, not exactly hunting material, but damn did they look hot on her. He followed the same routine with her other foot, kneading her ankles and the ball of her foot as he went. Her knees parted further, nearly falling entirely back invitingly. He reached for the button of her jeans, popped it open deftly and caught her eyes as she lifted her hips for him to shed them for her. She wiggled, bit down on her lip as his hands grazed the freed flesh of her legs with each inch of her jeans falling away until finally she was lying in front of him in nothing but a pair of damp black panties. He swallowed, trying to wet his dried throat. Now that was a sight worth five years of torment. His hands slid up the back of her legs, from her ankle to her knees and stilling at her thighs, sliding around to lay on top of them. He could feel her quivering in anticipation, her eyes darkening with each second.

She reached out, fingers running over his hair before falling to cup his face, thumb stroking him gently. He was too far gone to turn back now and some part of him knew that she'd just won. There was no way he could let her run off on her own, playing the big bad huntress with nobody there to watch her back. Yeah, she had all her fancy training now and he wasn't doubting that she packed a heavy punch. But at least when she was with the League he knew there was somebody looking out for her. If he said no now, she was on her own, and he'd probably spend the majority of his time worrying about whether she made it through her last hunt than he would taking care of his own ass. It was going to be hard and he knew Sammy was going to be a baby about it, but it was just the way it had to be. He ignored the fact that there was a whole helluva lot of relief behind that decision.

He kissed down the inside of her thigh, hands kneading them as he went, holding them apart as she tried to close them when his lips grazed the rim of her panties at the crease leading from her thigh to her folds. He trailed his tongue along the seam, nuzzled her with his nose before he used his teeth to push her panties away from her some. He could taste her heat on the fabric, soaking through them, making them stick to her slit. He slid one hand down, pulled the sticky fabric to the side and kissed her clit, drawing his tongue over her slit torturously slow. She jerked, lifting her hips up until his mouth was pressed tight to her, lips buried deep against her. He suckled her clit until she was whimpering with need and then kissed along her outer lips, drawing them into his mouth, teasing them with his tongue and teeth.

She gripped his hair, nearly tore it from his scalp in her desire. Her nails bit into his neck and shoulders, fingers tightening, pressing into his skin harshly. His tongue delved inside of her, tasting the quivering wet heat that was sweet and salty. "Oh god, Oh god," she muttered under her breath and he laughed deeply against her, sending her into a shuddering fit, the vibrations doing wonders to her. She was close; he could tell from the way her thighs shook against his shoulders and how her fingers twitched against him. He separated his mouth from her, licked his lips, smirked as she made a noise of disapproval and slid up her, kissing her stomach as he went. His hand fell between her thighs, replacing his tongue, stroking her quicker, thrusting into her deeper, thumb rubbing her clit in tandem. She was barely coherent as he made a path up her body, flicking his tongue over her nipples before he was hovering directly over her mouth. She opened her eyes, stared up at him as the waves broke over her. He felt her tighten around his fingers, felt her whole body clench up and her eyes held his the whole way through, as they widened and dilated and fed off of the intensity of his gaze beating against her own. She gripped his arms, squeezing his biceps as she jerked and shuddered wildly.

When she came down, her body hit the bed once more and her chest heaved with the need for air. She panted heavily, eyes dark and face flushed. And then she was leaning up, pressing her mouth against his hungrily, dueling with his tongue for dominance. Her hands fell from his biceps, curled around his waist and pushed at his jeans. She undid the button easily, drew down the zipper and slid her slender hand inside to cup and stroke him. She used her knees to push his jeans down further until he could shake them off, kicking them away. Her legs were smooth and hot against his skin. His hands ran up and down her sides, kneading at her as he felt himself harden further beneath her touch. His hips jerked forward, trying to feel more of her, get more of her velvety hand around him, the fabric barrier enough to frustrate him.

He could feel the damp juncture of her thighs pressing against his stomach and his hand fell to the side of her panties, tearing it apart easily and without concern. He tore the other end too and groaned deeply as he felt her bare wet slit against him. "Holy fu..." He trailed off, unable to finish as he felt her fingers slide beneath his briefs and hold him freely. His eyes fell closed, tightening against the onslaught of pleasure. He buried his face against the crook of her neck, kissing her briefly. Her free hand pushed his briefs down further, freeing him entirely from their confines until he was just as bare as her and feeling every inch of her beautiful body pressed against him.

Her hand skimmed up his back, pressing against him encouragingly. "Dean," she choked out, voice wavering. "I need... I need..."

If he had any self control, he would've teased her with a cocky reply of "What do you need? _Who _do you need?" But he needed her just as bad and he couldn't fathom getting words out right then. So instead he braced his hands down on the bed, drew himself up further and as he felt her thighs part, he readjusted himself and sunk in deep, as far as he could, until he was entirely enveloped in her. "Ughh..." He groaned against her neck. He didn't believe in God, but he sure as hell felt like thanking him right about then. She was hot and tight and more than even his dreams could come up with and he'd had a lot of them, all starring her. But it'd been more aggressive in his head and less angsty and he hadn't thought one second about her becoming a hunter with them. A few dreams surrounded him getting out of the life and them living it up in some suburb, but those ones always felt a little too surreal for him. He couldn't really imagine himself living in one of those cul-de-sacs where every house looked the same and the lawn was always mowed and everybody waved at each other when they went out to get the morning paper.

Some part of him knew he'd always be on the road, always living out of a duffel bag and in cheap motels that weren't worth as little as they paid to begin with. He'd given up a lot for a life that wasn't what anybody would call cozy and she was another of those people he'd had to leave behind for "the greater good." And now here she was and she didn't give two shits about what was better or what she deserved. She was offering herself up to his world and she was ready for it, more than she had been five years ago. She was stronger, more agile and sharp, which was hard to imagine given she'd already spent so many years learning to keep her guard up and get the job done. But she'd been five years younger and still a little green on the whole hunting thing. He could see it in the curves and toned muscle of her body that she was trained to kill and ready to do so if she needed to. Her eyes were still as comforting as they'd always been, but darker now; a knowledge there that he almost wished she didn't have. But it was better to be informed than left in the dark... There was _bad_ things in the dark.

He didn't move for a minute. Frankly he wasn't sure he could. It felt too good, too right. Hell, he was getting sappy! So not the time for a chick-flick moments. He felt her hands wandering over his back, fingers dipping into the muscled plains. They rose higher, skimmed across his shoulders and up his neck, sliding into his hair. He slanted his mouth across hers as he drew out, nearly bare of her scorching heat entirely before he thrust back in. He could feel her in every part of himself. His fingers were thrumming just like they did after he pulled the trigger of his sawed off and his stomach was clenching as tight as it did when he was about to go after a bad _mother_. His back flexed, all of his muscles seeming to constrict and release in time with her hot insides quivering around him.

She slid one of her hands from his hair, palm gliding down his shoulder and along the length of his arm, fingers flicking the inside of his elbow and across his wrist before she was sliding her hand beneath his, twining their fingers. He held her hand tightly, gripping it against the bed. He could almost feel her pulse, beating from her wrist and against his. She readjusted her hips, lifted them so he was hitting her deeper, harder, and he relished every thick pump he made, every tightened embrace of her inner walls against him. Her body was arched up like she was offering all of herself to him, more than just her body though and he knew that. Through the heady haze, he knew she was giving him more than just release and a warm body to hold onto. He broke away from her mouth, inwardly cheering at her gasp of pleasure as he slid in and out of her. His mouth pressed against her ribs and fanned upward, kissing along the curves of her breasts. He cupped one with his free hand, massaging it, rubbing at the pebbled center in tandem with his thrusts. Her skin was flaring up, sweat breaking out, and he licked a salty bead away with his tongue, pressing his forehead to her chest, panting harshly.

He lifted up, his body tightening as he sat back on his haunches. She rose up, higher now, able to stare down at him. She lifted her body with the strength of her legs on either side of him, thighs flexing. Her hand found the back of his neck, her face was close as she rose and fell, twisting and gyrating her hips with each stroke, engulfing him deep inside of her. She refused to kiss him, was close enough to but whenever he lifted his mouth toward hers she drew away just a few inches, teasing him. She was slowing down her hips now, too, swirling them torturously languid as she brought herself down. The sensation was incredible, but he wanted more, wanted it all, immediately. He always was impatient.

She smirked at him knowingly, lifting a brow, challenging him to do something about it. He slid his hand around her, looped it up between her thighs and slid his fingers in right beside his rigid length. Her head fell back, eyes fluttering and he attached his mouth to her neck, suckling and nipping at her skin. Her clit ground against him and her slow thrusts became harsher, faster. He slid his hand away, gripping her hip tightly. Her arm tightened around his shoulder, fingers digging into his back, scoring his skin. He winced slightly, but enjoyed it more than he should. He could feel her building up to a second orgasm and he leaned her back so he was hitting her in just the right spot. She held onto the back of his neck to keep herself steady, the rest of her shaking and squirming with the ripples of pleasure running through her.

He wanted it to last. All these years, before and after her, he wanted to get in and get out, enjoy all that he could and then get his ass out of there before they could make anything more out of it. But he wanted things to be different with her, wanted to be sure he wasn't gonna wake up and there'd be some sappy letter on his end table, telling him he was right, that she belonged with the League and she made a mistake coming back. He hadn't realized he was actually scared of that possibility. He'd been telling himself she belonged there, belonged somewhere he wasn't, with someone who wasn't him. But all along he was scared she actually would. That all of his dreaming of her and wanting her was for nothing. He wouldn't admit it to anybody, but there were more than a few times that he'd seen a blonde and he'd hoped, nearly _prayed_, that it was her. That she tried the other life and it wasn't right and she'd come to tell him he could stick his good intentions up his ass, because she was right where she belonged. With him, doing what he did best. Five years and all those blondes were never her. Not until he heard Nazareth blaring on the road and saw those green eyes of hers, flashing at him. _Come and get me_. And he did and hell this was better than what he'd expected.

She writhed in his arms and there was nothing sexier than a woman orgasming. In front of him, on him, hell, just the fact that it was _her_ nearly had him giving in. Instead, he laid her back down on the bed, slowed his thrusts so she could get used to the feeling again, wrapped his lips around her breast lightly, drawing another whimper from her as he teased her nipple to attention. Her eyes opened slowly, looking up at him with the softest expression he'd ever seen on her. Those green eyes weren't so jaded right then, weren't so dark or sad. Intense, always, but now they were filled with an emotion he rarely saw or reciprocated. And sure as hell it scared him worse than hell hounds. Because this shit got him into trouble, this feeling always got people dead and in the end, he died trying to make them undead again. He wished he could say that was what finally snapped him out of it; what woke up and reminded him that as good as it all was, he'd still have to walk away, but it didn't.

Instead he kissed her; caressed her lips with his own, real gentle and tender and unlike any kiss he'd ever laid on another woman. Not even Cassie. Because this was Chloe and while she had a few traits of the women who mattered in his life, she was a woman all too different. She was stronger and deeper and she got him a helluva lot more than most people did. She sighed into his mouth, meeting each stroke of his mouth with one of her own. And then she rolled him over until he was laid out on his back, straddled by her and that beautiful body of hers that had his hands twitching. He wanted to touch her, all of her, top to bottom, 'til he had her memorized entirely. It was a strange feeling; being so drawn to just one person.

She tucked her hair behind her ears, smiled at him and then ducked her head, pressing her lips to his navel, tongue dipping inside. She had to do some serious bending to get there and her body arched up like a satisfied cat while she did it. Her hands glided up her his sides, fingers flicking his ribs as her mouth trailed over his stomach and up his chest. She nibbled the seam between his pecs, soothing the light bite with her tongue. Her fingers spread out along his biceps, smoothing down his arms, gripping him and kneading his skin enticingly. She rocked her hips against him, forcing his orgasm into submission as she explored his shoulders and neck. By the time she reached his mouth, he was on the verge of begging her to end it. It felt so good and he just wanted more of it, all of it.

She kissed over his face, around his eyes and across his forehead, down the slope of his nose and fanned across his cheeks, until finally she bit his chin lightly and let her lips graze his, their noses brushing together. His hands gripped her back, fingers pressing into her, encouraging her hips to move faster, her body to put him out of his ecstasy drowned misery. As her mouth finally fit against his, her hips bucked, picking up speed until he could barely keep up, just letting her take him to those heights. He held her by the back of her shoulders, keeping her close, keeping their panting, gasping mouths in a needy kiss that wouldn't end. He could feel his body become slick, her own sliding against it. His stomach tightened and he felt the heat growing inside of him explode into the most incredible feeling of completion. Better than blowin' away ghosts or decapitating vamps or hunting evil sons o' bitches any day.

And she was right there with him, crying his name out, shaking around him, tightening and gripping him deep inside of her. Her hands were clutching his biceps, fingers digging in, and he felt them slowly loosen as she came down. When he found he could breathe again and think just a little more clearly, he found himself holding her, hands pressing her in closer as if he was hugging her. Her ear was pressed against his chest and he could feel her ragged breathing play over his cooling skin. Her legs slowly unfurled from his sides, straightening out against the bed. She was still perched on top of him though, didn't lift to remove him from the warm confines of her still shaking inner walls. He could feel her breasts flat against his chest, her stomach pressing against his rapidly with her breathing.

He closed his eyes for a minute, tried to catch his breath, get his bearings, and found himself kissing her hair, inhaling that Chloe-scent of hers. He could feel her fingertips drawing shapes on his bicep, whether it was on purpose or just a natural thing of hers, he didn't know, but he planned on finding out in the next however many years she chose to stick around. His chest clenched for a minute and he felt reality close in again. She pressed a kiss to his chest, as if she knew he was already starting to think about all the ways it could end badly. What made him stop the train of thought was that she wasn't. This was a woman who knew hunting and the world and all the bad shit that went on in it. Took her five years to get there and she spent a whole lot of it getting ready, taking extreme precautions to work her body into what was needed. So if she wasn't scared, if she wasn't immediately running through the pros and cons, it meant she already had and she came to a decision. One he wasn't ever gonna talk her out of. She was staying and that was final and he relaxed when he accepted it.

He didn't know how long they just laid there and he didn't care. There were few women in the past that he ever wanted to just hold and it'd been a long time since he'd found one of those. But here she was and she was warm and soft in his arms. She might feel gentle, but the fact that he knew she could take on any bad ass bastard that crossed her path just made it all the more content. She wasn't incapable and she didn't need him there to make sure she didn't get herself killed. She knew the ins and outs of the demon world and the regular old fucked up world with people just as crazy and vindictive as their dead counterparts. And maybe that gave her a little edge; she was better with real people than he was and she handled research like a pro. She'd molded her body into that of a hunter and with a little teaching she'd have the right mindset for it too. She needed the right partners for that though and he was a little smug in knowing that he and Sammy were those guys. His brother would put up a fight, but he'd accept it eventually and that was all Dean needed to know.

She was right. In the end, he had two choices; be with her as long as he could and enjoy it while he had the time, or spend the rest of his life hoping she was okay pondering all those 'what ifs.' With her there with him, he could keep her safe as long as possible, as best as he could. And he could have her; give that _maybe _a real fighting chance. So far, it was a damn good decision. But he could be biased.

She lifted her head, a sleepy, sated expression on her face. "Who knew all it took was some Nazareth to get in your pants?" she teased, smirking.

He laughed deeply, shaking his head. She rested her chin on his chest and he reached up, traced her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. They were still a little pink and her lips were still swollen. The look in her eyes though, that was all satisfaction. She shivered against him and one of his hands fell, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it up to wrap around them. It was almost sacrileg to cover up those curves and he found his mind skipping back to an interesting fact she mentioned. His eyes lit up and his mouth curved in a smirk. "So this outfit of yours, from the League... It's leather, right?"

She lifted a brow. "Mm hmm..."

He licked his lips. "You bring it?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes and sitting up, the sheet falling to pool at her slender waist. She ran her fingers through her hair, blowing out a sigh. "I might've packed it." She winked at him and he sat up, arms wrapping around her tightly. He kissed her as she laughed and something inside of him finally reconciled at least a small part of all the bad shit in his past. Maybe those five years weren't worth regretting. She was here now, she had the skill and the background she needed. Hell, she had the drive to do it, whereas before she was just a reporter who got entangled with the wrong couple a guys. But she was ready for it now and he was ready for her.

So that it was it then. It'd been hard getting there and he'd missed her like hell, but he got her back. Sammy would probably spout some Shakespeare bull about letting go of what you love and having them come back if it was to be or if they really loved you or some shit like that. All he knew was that he had a frisky Chloe Sullivan in his arms and five years was a long time to let things build up. They had a long night ahead of them.

S.s.S.s.S

When Sam Winchester finally left the bar, he was a little drunk and a lot bored. He purposely hung around longer than usual, wishing the jukebox would play something other than old mullet rock. He got enough of that driving shotgun with Dean and he really didn't need it now. He checked his cell phone a few times, wondering if Dean would even call when it was okay to head back. He couldn't help wondering if his brother's meeting with their old sidekick went well or not. It was obvious five years ago that the two of them had something; even if they weren't acting on it. And from the brief minute he spent reuniting with her, he could tell that it hadn't changed much.

Five years ago, he'd seen Dean beat himself over the head for turning her away. It'd been for the better; he knew that. She was a liability; to everyone. She was a great person and a wonderful friend. She had researching down pat and it was good to have someone more serious to bounce ideas off of. But when they were in the field, he could see that Dean was caught between watching her back and keeping him safe, and having two to look after before himself was straining. Sam tried to explain it to her, tried to warn her that Dean didn't love many, didn't get caught up in emotions because in the end they always hurt him. But Chloe didn't want to go, she liked the life too much, and eventually Dean came to terms with the fact that as much as he cared for her, it was going to get her killed.

He'd never seen his brother as torn as he did when he returned from the bar and he didn't know until the next morning, when the tenacious blonde that'd been by their side for four months just didn't show up. Dean's dark expression told him that he wasn't surprised she hadn't shown up, but he was hurting over it. He never got the whole story, he just knew that Dean had told her to go back and she did. And that was the end of the Sullivan-Winchester hunting team. Five years, he never saw another woman come close to impacting Dean the way Chloe had. He felt sorry for him, because at least after Jess he'd had Sarah and then Madison, and yeah, it hurt like hell when it was all over, but he'd had those few moments of redemption and they were probably the only thing that kept him going sometimes.

For Dean it was Chloe. He wasn't blind. He noticed when Dean checked up on her, making sure she wasn't in any obits anywhere. And he knew she was looking out for them too; more than once he'd noticed their records missing from places they should be, that he hadn't yet gotten to. She cared, even if she didn't call to check up on them. Probably hurt too much; same reason Dean never called her. Sam left a few messages here or there; let her know that Dean was okay, that he got out of the deal. He didn't go into details, but he made sure she knew that Dean was still alive and kicking ass. He called about once a year, always got the machine, left a short message just to let her know they remembered her, cared about her, were still out there somewhere, fighting behind the scenes. She never called back, but then he never expected her to. Long as he got the machine, he knew she was there too. She never changed her number either, making sure he always had a way to contact her.

Her car had a feeling much like Dean's and as soon as he turned it on, there was no escaping the similarities. Nazareth blared out at him once more, nearly deafening him. He immediately covered his ears, but it didn't cut the music out much. Biting the bullet, he reached out and turned the knob down, but it was too dark and he didn't want to mess up her stereo. It wasn't a long drive to the motel anyway and at least it wasn't head-banging Metallica. He could live with it.

_We've been up all night  
Tryin' to avoid a situation  
Hold me, let me feel your way  
'Cause I wanna stay  
Let them all start talkin'  
We wont give ourselves away_

_Our love leads to madness_

He pulled into the dime-a-dozen motel and parked ten or so spaces down from Dean's Impala, right in front of the door Chloe said would be her room. Oddly, he found her room key on the keychain to her car and wondered briefly how it was she got into her room. He considered that she might not be finished talking with Dean but glanced at his watch. He'd given them three hours, they better be done. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, ducking his head some as he walked. He was tired and all he wanted was to crawl in bed and wrap himself in the probably-scratchy blanket of his bed. He couldn't be bothered to care and stopped in front of the door, again realizing that it was likely to be locked. Dean wasn't one for ignoring precautions and he'd probably locked it as soon as he got in. Since he got the room, Sam had no key. He reached for the door handle anyway, hoping to God it turned and sighed in relief as he did, but as he opened it the light from the parking lot spilled in and framed a picture he wasn't expecting to see.

Chloe wasn't in her room but instead laying face down on Dean's large bed, a blanket covering her from the small of her back down. She appeared to be fast asleep, but he couldn't be sure. What he was sure of though was his brother was not sleeping, but instead lying on his side next to her, obviously wearing as few clothes as she was, evidenced by the pants and shirts thrown carelessly to the floor. Dean didn't acknowledge him, instead staring down softly at the beautiful woman peacefully sprawled next to him.

His fingertips were running up and down the center of Chloe's back, soothing, tender, and more intimate than Sam had ever expected of his brother. He'd always known Dean felt something deep for Chloe, but it wasn't until that moment that he realized he'd let himself _love_ her. After all those years of trying to pretend he was incapable, that he didn't need it, he went and fell for a woman who wanted to be there, wanted to try with him, and he'd pushed her away. It was also in that moment that Sam realized he wouldn't do it again. He wouldn't tell her to go this time and he wouldn't up and leave her in the middle of the night, hoping she'd return to the life she had without them. She was in; permanently.

He closed the door, leaving them to their moment, and walked down the sidewalk toward Chloe's room, lifting the key up and shaking his head. She knew Dean too well; anticipating his moves far enough to know that she'd have to leave a room key for him so he wouldn't have to bear through the discomfort. Maybe she was worth keeping; any other woman wouldn't have even thought of him. And he knew Chloe, she'd keep Dean on his toes and maybe even draw him out of the funk he'd been in since getting out of the crossroads deal. There was a lot of hurt there; indescribable pain that Dean didn't want to talk about. _Couldn't_ talk about.

He slid the key in the door and closed it behind him with a sigh, locking it and checking the windows out of habit before he finally shed his clothes and slid into the stiff comfort of the bed, pulling the blankets around him tightly. He closed his eyes, smiling to himself. Maybe things were looking up. At the very least, he'd see his brother get his ass handed to him by a girl. Now that was always worth watching.

* * *

**Author's Note**:_ That was much longer than I expected. First time writing Chlean smut, I think I did okay. Hope you liked this! Reviews are sustenance, readers! Luv yas - Fina!_


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